Fly
by sunwindandwaves
Summary: The prodigal Bunansa son, Judge Ffamran mied Bunansa. A lofty title for a spoiled, overly-hormonal boy with an expensive taste in clothing. The spoiled, overly-hormonal boy in question rather detested it. Balthier-centric oneshot. Implied Bal/Fran


The prodigal Bunansa son, Judge Ffamran mied Bunansa. A lofty title for a spoiled, overly-hormonal boy with an expensive taste in clothing. The spoiled, overly-hormonal boy in question rather detested it. He would far and away rather be thieving one of his illustrious father's prototype airships, occasionally modifying it to better suit his purposes.

On one such occasion, he decided he wouldn't go back. He would just leave Archades, and his crazy scientist father, and all those ridiculously straight laced Imperial soldiers who wouldn't know a good time if it bit them in their heavily armored asses.

He rather liked this ship—the YPA-GB47 Test Combat Fighter, if the plans he'd snatched off his father's desk were any indication. She responded easily to his touch, moving much more fluidly than the clunky combat fighters currently in use by the Archadian airforce. He _adored _the dual-movable wing system—he found it gave the ship a maneuverability and speed that were simply delightful. If he allowed himself to be honest, he mused, he might be falling in love for the first time. His fingers danced over the controls, locating the booster drive, the cloaking device and the landing gears. It _could _do with a lighter engine, he supposed, to enhance its speed. He happened to have just such a blueprint in his own quarters. She was a big ship, with a loading ramp and several cabins in addition to a spacious cockpit. He twisted through the towers of Archades, zipping past arrogant nobles and hopeful ardents alike, generally raising Cain in the narrow airways and provoking several taxi drivers to make some rather rude hand gestures him. He chuckled happily and decided that the squadron under his command as a Judge could go hang itself, and he'd head out to the Phon Coast for some sun and women in skimpy clothing.

No sooner had Ffamran resolved to do this than the controls of the airship twisted under his hands, redirecting the machine back towards Archades. Snarling, he grabbed them again, viciously pulling at the plastic and metal controls in an attempt to wrestle the airship back in the direction he had chosen. In vain, he continued to tug at them even as the ship docked itself back at the Draklor Laboratories.

"Ffamran!" his father hailed jovially. "How does she fly? Did you like her homing controls?"

The teen slunk out of the cockpit, sulkily adjusting his sleeve cuffs. "They were delightful. Is it programmed to stay within the capital? An armed taxi, perhaps?"

Dr. Cid Bunansa shook his head, a glint in his eye. "Much better! It has a locator device implanted within it! I knew as soon as it was gone, and as soon as it'd ventured beyond city limits, I simply turned her around and brought her home!" He waved a small device joyfully in Ffamran's face before turning on his booted heel. "The Emperor is holding a coming of age ceremony for Lord Vayne today. I expect you'll be there…on _time_."

Ffamran muttered an unintelligible response, following his father back into the Laboratories, heels tapping on the marble flooring.

"Also," Dr. Cid continued, "you will remove those feminine ornaments from your ears." Ffamran started up indignantly.

"They are not feminine!" he said, almost self-consciously raising a hand to the twisted metal that dangled from one earlobe.

"And those rings, too," Dr. Cid added, striding into his office and waving brightly to his son as the door slid shut over him. "It's at seven tonight," he said, his voice muffled by the door.

Ffamran curled his lip in disgust and stormed off, scattering guards and hapless lab assistants before him. He slammed into a large man, ricocheting off of him and snarling something largely unintelligible but definitely not apologetic and continued down to the taxi stop in front of the Laboratories. Guards flanked the exit, nodding deferentially to him as he stalked past them.

Before he reached the doors, they slid open and a tiny white-coated girl stumbled in, curls of dark hair falling across her face. Ffamran, caught up in his self-pitying rage, didn't notice her until he'd clipped her with an elbow and sent her notebooks flying. Immediately, his surly mood evaporated and he put every ounce of his charm into the smile he shot her.

"Pardon me, miss," he said, bending to pick up her notes before shuffling them into a pile and handing them back to her. He paused as if in surprise as he looked at her. "I don't believe we've met." Nodding his head politely, he took one of her hands in his own. "Balthier, pleased to make your acquaintance," he said, using his preferred alias. Around him, he was aware of soldiers grumbling and probably rolling their eyes behind their metal visors.

"I…I…I'm Menal," the girl said, her eyes wide as he brushed his lips over the back of her hand. "I'm new here."

"I thought that must be so," Ffamran said, trying to inconspicuously slide his gaze up and down the girl's body. "I would have remembered a face like yours," he said, eyes most definitely not focused on the girl's oh-so-memorable face.

If Ffamran _had_ been looking at her face as he claimed, he would have noticed it twist into a frown of disgust. As it was, he noticed something had gone amiss when she suddenly yanked her hand out of his grasp.

"Keep your eyes to your_self_, Mr. Balthier," she said angrily, and with an imperious toss of her chin, she left Ffamran to the snicker of the guards and wonder what exactly he'd done wrong.

--

That evening at precisely 6:39 PM, Ffamran was in his monstrously large personal chambers, struggling with the massive chestplate of his Judge's armor. "Oh, _bugger _it, this thing is bigger than I am," he hissed, heaving the thing onto his bed and leaning over it to strap it onto his back. "Don't I have attendants for this sort of rubbish?" Of course, he himself had requested _not_ having attendants, for reasons of privacy, but he nevertheless found the matter subject to his ire at the moment.

With an almighty burst of energy, he stood straight, bending under the weight of his ceremonial armor as he buckled on armored shoes and ornamental gauntlets. Once they were secured, he realized he could barely bend his arms. Ffamran trudged in front of his full length mirror, staring at his reflection. Rather than in vanity, this evening he looked at himself only to reaffirm how bloody _ridiculous_ he looked in this getup. His head looked like a pebble perched on top of a mountain, pale and terribly unattractive atop his gleaming metal body. And _godsdamnthemalltohell he'd forgotten to take his earrings out_.

Ffamran tried feebly to lift his arms, getting them about level with his chest before the armor restricted his movement. After a moment's trying, he simply dropped them, clanked over to his helmet and dropped it on his head, saying, "Sod it, they'll never see them anyway."

--

The Lord Vayne was older than Ffamran, more important than Ffamran, and held considerably more power than Ffamran could ever dream of. Nevertheless, he'd never felt the need to ingratiate himself to the man, simply because he doubted he would be a Judge long. As soon as he'd felt the crushing weight of the armor pulling him down at his initiation ceremony, Ffamran had sworn he'd throw it off, and into the deepest pits of the Zertinian Caverns for good measure. The only thing he liked about his position was the customized weapon it came with. His was a slender, elegant hand gun with an unusually long barrel, built for both accuracy and distance.

The ceremony was long, dull and extremely complicated for something as simple as turning twenty five. Ffamran figured they could chuck him some Mahdu wine and a girl and be done with it, but no, not in Archades. In Archades everything was done with dignity and grandeur, pomp and frills.

He amused himself while Vayne was giving a speech by clicking his earrings against the sides of his helmet, earning quizzical looks from the Judges to either side.

After Vayne's speech and those of what seemed like innumerable others, the formality broke down and turned the gathering into the celebration it was meant to be.

Enlisting the aid of several chortling guardsmen, Ffamran removed his helmet and shook his head briskly, his overlong hair flicking drops of sweat. He rejoined the party to find his father locked in earnest conversation with a wealthy Bhujerban man and his thin, waifish daughter.

"Ah! Ffamran!" his father hailed, beckoning him to the group. Dr. Cid swiftly latched his hand around his son's earring and yanked while making introductions. "This is Lord Marzan and his delightful daughter Nilial."

Gasping for breath and blinking rapidly to hold back tears of pain, Ffamran ground out, "Charmed." The waifish girl, Nilial, looked alarmed as she watched a trickle of blood splatter the shoulder of Ffamran's armor.

"Lord Marzan was just telling me about a large, untapped vein of magicite recently located on his property." Cid turned to his son, eyes agleam. "I, in turn, was telling him of the marvels of manufactured nethicite."

Ffamran's dripping eyes narrowed as he reassessed the situation—magicite was a vital ingredient of nethicite, as his father had so exuberantly explained to him some months ago.

As if eager to prove his son's suspicious, Cid said, "Why don't you and Nilial congratulate the Lord Vayne?"

Ffamran nodded stiffly and offered a crooked elbow to Nilial, who slipped her arm around it as they melted into the crowd with the ease of the highborn.

"Manufactured nethicite, hmm?" Nilial asked as soon as they were out of earshot.

"The good doctor believes it to be the way of the future," Ffamran replied, inspecting the girl on his arm. It was difficult to say what age she was—she was so painfully thin that any indicating curves had been eaten away until the likeliest age group she might belong to was of those so old they'd decomposed into skeletons. Her skin was so pale as to be translucent, delicate traceries of blue veins just visible. Her white-blonde hair was elaborately knotted on the back of her head in the style of Archadian gentry, and her pale eyes held the slightest tinge of pink. Part albino, Ffamran guessed. Doubtless the reason the girl had yet to be married off at…well, at whatever age she was.

They drew level with the doors to the terrace and wordlessly exited, Ffamran exhaling with relief once they'd escaped the crush of people.

Nilial unobtrusively slipped her hand around the back of his neck, pulling her self to her toes. With the other hand, she lightly touched his torn ear lobe, muttering a simple curing spell under her breath. Instantly, the torn flesh became whole.

She stepped back and surveyed her work, frowning. "You will have to get it re-pierced, of course," she said finally.

Ffamran stood silent for a moment. "Thank you, milady," he said, adopting the title of respect he hadn't before.

Nilial shrugged. "Please drop the formalities," she said. "Our fathers have clearly intended us to take a liking to one another, so we'd best get used to it." She smiled sadly. "I'd hoped to make a good first impression."

--

That night, rather, early that morning, Dr. Cid danced into his son's chambers, eyes glowing. "Just think! Veins of untapped magicite, ripe for the harvesting!" he sang.

Ffamran ignored him, stripping off his Judicial armor and dumping it unceremoniously to the floor.

"So much magicite, to create so much nethicite!" Dr. Cid suddenly rounded on Ffamran, who was inspecting the faint scar on his earlobe in the mirror. "And _you_ can make that happen!"

Ffamran poked uninterestedly at the last of his teenage-year pimples. "And how might I do such a thing?" he asked dully.

Cid seized Ffamran's shoulders. "Marry the girl! After all, what's a few tons of magicite between inlaws?"

Ffamran's face hardened. "Buy it," he said flatly.

Cid chuckled. "Why buy what you can get for free by other means?" A long time later, an adult Ffamran calling himself Balthier would remember this as the only quote of his father's that bore consideration.

He tore out of his father's grip. "And so, Dr. Cidolfus Bunansa, that grand Archadian scientist and madman, would sell his own son for nethicite." His look softened almost imperceptively. "What _did_ this to you?"

Cid scoffed at him, waving a hand. "Science, my boy! Nethicite could power all Archadia for an eternity, not to mention obliterate her enemies." For a split second, Ffamran caught sight of something gray and faceless looming over his father's shoulder. Just as soon though, it was gone.

Ffamran recomposed his face into an unfeeling mask. "I trust that you will give me time, at least, to court Miss Nilial formally?"

The doctor smiled broadly, thrilled by his son's change in attitude. "Of course!" he exclaimed, clapping his hands together. "After all, these things must be done properly!" With that, he left, and Ffamran fell back onto his bed, drawing a gridded blueprint from under his pillow and planning his escape.

The next two weeks found Ffamran busy with one of three things—acquiring materials at the morning markets, entertaining Nilial during the days, and the YPA-GD47 under the cover of darkness.

He meant to replace its engine with one of his own design, in order to speed his escape. He could not remove the homing device until the last moment—Cid himself had informed Ffamran that if it were tampered with, it would alert him as surely as if it had been left on in the first place.

It was a pity, Ffamran thought, grunting as he loosened a bolt on the aircraft's engine, that he'd soon be leaving Nilial behind. She was pleasant, very intelligent and quite shrewd. He did not love her, but she was a tolerable addition to his days. He'd no doubt she'd make a fine wife—for another man.

Ffamran had proposed, to no one's surprise, and likewise she had accepted. Neither of them showed a terrible amount of enthusiasm for the match, but at public gatherings they put on a show of being deeply in love. The date of the wedding was to be a week hence—he figured he'd have the new engine of the YPA-GD47 ready long before then.

The day before the wedding, Ffamran had invited Nilial to his private terrace. He was distracted, drumming his fingers on the low tables as he mentally reviewed the functions of his new engine.

Nilial noticed his discomfort. "Ffamran?" she asked quietly, touching his hand gently. Her engagement ring flashed in the sunlight.

He smiled at her tiredly and drew his hand back. Best not to become attached to the girl.

"Is it the wedding?" she asked bluntly.

Just as honestly, he nodded. Nilial pulled away from him slightly. "You would not marry me?" she said, misunderstanding his reasoning.

"It's not that, you're a lovely girl…but do you not mind it, being nothing but a pawn in another's chess game?" he asked, eyes drifting over to the Archadian skyline, over which he hoped to be soaring that night.

Nilial closed her eyes briefly, then reached into her pocket and produced the polished twist of metal that Ffamran's father had torn from his ear they first time they'd met. Standing, she placed it on the table next to his curled fist and bent to kiss his forehead. "Tomorrow, Ffamran," she said, taking her leave.

"Tomorrow," he answerd.

--

That night, Ffamran was shoving his most important belongings into a pillowcase when a sudden knock on his door sent him into a frenzy, flinging the half filled pillow case under his bed and catapulting himself on top, bouncing once or twice between bidding the knocker enter.

For the past several hours, guilt had been eating away at his resolve as surely as acid. Nilial didn't deserve to be humiliated at the altar—she was good to him, and he enjoyed her company. A future with her would be comfortable, he was sure, if not as exciting as the life he craved. But he'd be _damned_—twice—if he let his father get his way.

Dr Cid strolled into his son's room, sitting on the bed next to him. "Big day tomorrow, eh?" he observed. Ffamran didn't respond, watching the covetous way his father turned a nugget of nethicite over and over in his hands. "You've made the right decision," Cid continued. "Do the Bunansa name justice."

Ffamran faked a huge yawn. "I'm afraid I'm rather tired," he told Cid, who nodded and rose, a grin spreading across his face as he crossed the room to the door.

"Ah yes, you'll be wanting to sleep, then, won't you," Cid said, pausing at the door. "You won't be getting much tomorrow night." Chuckling at his own witticism, Cid slammed the door behind him.

Ffamran started packing again with renewed vigor.

--

Once satisfied he'd taken enough baubles to pay his way until he found a job (or a rich fool to rob), Ffamran made his way down to the aircraft hangar. The guards did not question him—they were used to his midnight rambles. Also, he was a Judge, and as far as the guards were concerned, it was worth more than their jobs to question one.

The runaway Judge was met with an unpleasant surprise at the landing bay. His precious YPA-GD47 was being pushed towards the scrapper, a hole in the ground that essentially mutilated any airship within its confines.

His face twisting into a melodramatic gasp of shock, Ffamran sprinting after it, waving his arms and shouting at the top of his lungs for whoever was steering to "Stop! Stop! I said _stop it_, damn you all!"

The men shoving his baby paused, and seeing who it was that accosted them so late in the night, swept low bows.

"Why," Ffamran panted, hands on his knees. "_Why_, are you scrapping that beautiful thing?"

One of the men shrugged. "Doctor told us to. Said the wings make it too expensive."

Ffamran clicked his tongue in disgust. "At least let me get Miss Nilial's wedding ring out of there," he said, striding forward and swinging himself and his pillowcase into the cockpit with practiced ease. Of course, he'd left no such thing in the ship, but whatever worked was good in his books.

He slid into the pilots seat and ducked beneath the control panel, ripping off a plastic door he'd found some time earlier. Behind it, a tiny black box beeped quietly and with annoying regularity.

He stuck his head up for a moment to determine the direction he'd fly—straight ahead would take him out the open shuttle doors and away. Ducking back, he brushed a strand of hair out of his eyes. Now or never. He gripped the box and yanked, pulling the locator device out of this ship. Popping open a small airlock, he tossed it to the hangar floor just as it began letting out an earsplitting screech.

Ffamran winced as shouts began to fill the air, and the sound of men attempting to stop him filtered through the walls of his ship. He sat down in the seat pulled back on the throttle, sending men leaping out of the way of the great gouts of flame that propelled the ship.

Apologizing to the ship in a low soothing voice all the while, Ffamran sent her through a series of gear shifts that would've left a lesser ship in pieces and tore out of the hangar and into the night sky.

As he rounded Draklor Laboratories, a massive weight seemed to leave his shoulders, making him feel as light as the air he soared through. He passed his own terrace, where he'd sat with Nilial not six hours prior.

Dr. Cid watched Ffamran soar away from Archades.

--

Ffamran marveled in his freedom. He was over the Tchita Uplands, heading east and south for Balfonheim Port, haven to pirates and thieves of both sea and sky. The patchwork green landscape sprawled below him like a map, filling him with a peace he'd never known in his father's Labs. He'd flown through the night, and the dawn was painting the land hues of orange and pink he'd never known existed.

He was _gone_. No more listening to boring speeches, no more heavy armor, no more wedding to a girl he didn't love. He did wonder briefly how Nilial was coping with his abandonment, but figured she was probably as relieved as he was to be free of the engagement.

Ffamran's day passed wonderfully—he'd flown the entire time. Imperial ships had stopped following him not long after he'd passed the edge of the Sochen Cave Palace, and though it was a nice adrenaline rush while it lasted, he was loathe to push his baby any farther.

"YPA is simply not going to do it anymore," he murmured, flying over a wide blue ocean. "The _Melan_?" he asked himself. "Definitely not. The _Nilial_…no, ties me to Archades too easily…" Ffamran paused, remembering an old tale Nilial had told him. "An ancient king, beholden to no one and to nothing…" He grinned. "Yes, the _Strahl_ will do nicely."

--

Tossing back a mug of cheap beer, Ffamran glared daggers at the unshaven man attempting to relieve him of his purse. The man slunk away, in search of less alert prey, perhaps one deeper into his cups than Ffamran was.

He'd been in Balfonheim Port for a fortnight, and still there had been no credible response to his bill for a co-pilot. The _Strahl _was meant for two pilots—there was a co-pilots chair built in, as if the two sets of controls weren't hint enough. Ffamran'd had quite a time flying her. Fortunately, he was a gifted multitasker.

A few scruffy bastards had approached him, who'd then attempted to make off with his _Strahl_ until he and his gun had politely convinced them not to, a few little boys running away from home, and several young women who just came to see who he was out of curiosity and returned with gaggles of their friends.

This last one he hadn't minded so much, especially when one daring blonde had crawled into his lap and stuck her tongue in his mouth, though he did find it rather disturbing that she was _not_ drunk at the time.

But overall, he'd had quite a disappointing turnout. So, he spent a lot of time wandering the wharf, picking up odds and ends. He'd gotten his reddish brown hair cut short, and was rather pleased with the way it stuck up straight. It had a certain devil-may-care charm. The blonde in the tavern had certainly thought so.

His silver earring now dangled once again from his ear, an almost identical one in the other ear. Once he'd decided to get it re-pierced, he figured what the hell and was now adorned with several multicolored studs and a bronze cuff on each ear.

Ffamran slammed an empty tankard on the table where he sat alone, watching the bar's occupants as they went about their business. He'd been calling himself Balthier, here, but had yet to think of himself by that name.

Though life in the pirate port was doubtless better than life in Archades, Ffamran was starting to wonder if he had been mistaken in coming here. He missed the cultured nobles, and libraries filled with anything and everything he wanted to know. He even missed Nilial…after a fashion.

There was a click of heels behind him—Ffamran didn't turn around until a pair of long, tan legs crossed his view. He followed the high-heeled legs up to a barely covered torso, an elegant bow strapped to its owners back as she crossed her sinewy arms across her mostly exposed chest.

Finally raising his eyes to her face, Ffamran said, "Don't suppose you'd like to be a pilot, would you?"

The Viera narrowed her blood-red eyes, her long white ears twitching in suspicion. He saw her nose flare and knew she smelled the drink on him, but he was not drunk—he thought. Of course, if he was drunk it might explain how he came to be seeing the most gorgeous woman in the world in front of him. Ffamran'd always had a bit of a thing for women who were taller than him.

The Viera took a seat across from him, her long silvery hair shimmering in the dingy tavern lights. "I am in need of a flight to Rabanastre," she said, her accent strange and almost animalistic. She rolled each word around in her mouth before speaking it, as though experimenting with the taste of the strange hume words.

Ffamran pulled himself upright with a bit of an effort, focusing on her red eyes with a bit more of an effort. She had the loveliest skin, he noted. Like milk chocolate. "Flattered though I am to be speaking with a woman of your caliber," he said, "why does not an aerodrome serve this purpose?" As a rule, Viera did not interact with Humes unless strictly necessary.

Her ears flattened against her head. "They would not serve my kind," she said shortly. Ffamran found he had to strain to listen to the words she was saying, rather than just the bewitching cadences of her voice.

He was starting to suspect that he might be far gone.

Ffamran nodded; Viera travelers were uncommon, and many who had accepted the Seeq and the Bangaa had yet to become friendly with the more obscure race. "And so you've come to me, to offer your…co-piloting skills in exchange for a trip to Rabanastre?" he asked. The Viera nodded and a wide grin spread across Ffamran's face.

He took the Viera's hand and rose, bowing low and kissing it. "I believe you would be ideal for the position. I'm called Balthier."

The Viera's perfect nose was wrinkled in slight distaste—Viera did not engage in signs of physical affection as Humes did. "Fran," she said finally.

Balthier straightened up, still beaming. "Well, Fran, when you are ready I would be honored to escort you to my—our ship, the _Strahl_. I sense a marvelous partnership in our future."

Fran's ear twitched, and she followed him to the Balfonheim aerodrome.

The _Strahl_ was docked at the very back, so as not to draw attention to herself. Ffamran was quite pleased with the attention _he_ drew, with Fran at his side. He could definitely get used to it.

They drew level with Ffamran's ship, and he waved an arm grandly in its direction. Despite herself, Fran was impressed, though she gave no sign of it as Ffamran lowered the landing ramp and strolled aboard, insisting on giving her the grand tour that seemed to her to linger a bit overlong in the sleeping cabins.

Ignoring his overtures, Fran turned and headed to the bridge, taking a seat in the co-pilots chair and looking as natural sitting there as if Ffamran had flown with her every day of his life. He gazed at her, feeling immeasurably pleased with himself. A little over two days ago he was beholden to his crazy father's every whim, locked into a marriage he did not want.

Now he was flying the skies with a beautiful woman. Life was good.

"Well?" Fran said curtly, turning to the control board. "Hadn't we best be off?" She narrowed her eyes at him as he took a seat next to her. "That's what a sky pirate does. You fly, don't you?"

Balthier grinned at her as the _Strahl _soared out into open sky. "That I do, my dear."

--

Four years later, Fran was still flying with Balthier, much to her quiet befuddlement. They'd reached Rabanastre, going their separate ways in the city, then simply rejoined and flew on.

She would follow him anywhere, now, and he would do the same for her. It was for Balthier and Balthier alone that Fran entered the stifling city of Archades, so far from her cool and quiet Wood. The fate of the Hume nations did not concern her much—she'd grown fond of the others in their group, but their wars were their problems.

But Balthier seemed to feel a sense of obligation to prevent the coming bloodshed—she knew of his past, of his father. His father was behind the destruction of Nabradia, and Balthier would not stand back and let him perform his nightmarish experiments again.

Once entering the city, Balthier left the group with little explanation. Fran let him go with just a nod. She would follow, meet him once his business was concluded. There were parts of his life that were not hers to share, just as parts of her own life remained private.

Balthier shot a parting grin over his shoulder at Fran, thanking whatever deity he believed in that day for making her so easy to get along with. Vaan, of course, scurried after him, but with a sharp dismissal and the wave of a hand, Vaan turned and trudged back to their little group, where Penelo doubtless began to comfort her immature paramour.

He slid onto a taxi just as its doors were closing, waving a sandalwood chop as his pass to Central. Balthier was jumpy. The last time he'd been here, he'd been Judge Ffamran, and everywhere he looked he saw people he knew. As soon as he'd passed through the arch from Old Archades into the wealthier districts, he'd felt the invisible weight of his Judges' armor settle over him.

Fortunately, Balthier was more famous than Ffamran would ever be, and most people were unaware that they were in fact one and the same. He just kept his head down, twisting his enamel rings around his long fingers. When the taxi stopped, he leapt out, darting up to the cute docent who worked the lift.

After pausing briefly to flirt with her, he boarded and headed out to the terrace garden, reserved for only nobility.

Balthier looked around and shuddered—it was a lovely place, with nice, shiny metal walls and nice floating trees on the terrace, filled with nicely dressed people and it _disgusted_ him. But he was here for a reason, so he'd go on.

Tapping the shoulder of a slender man with a white wig, Balthier bowed low and said, "Nemens, it's so _good_ to see you again."

The man stepped back, clearly confused. Balthier chuckled benignly. "Why, Nemens, don't you remember me?" Casting about in his mind for a name that would mean utterly nothing to anyone, Balthier said, "I'm Taiyr. You tutored me when I was younger." Of course, the man had done no such thing. Nemens had, in fact, tutored a young Ffamran's friend.

Not wanting to appear forgetful, the man completely went for it. "Oh, yes of course! So good to see you again! What have you been up to?"

Balthier grinned. He loved messing with people. "Oh, I've been here and there. I just dropped by the city to visit an old family friend. What's Dr. Cid been up to these days, eh?"

Nemens scratched his head, shifting his powdery white wig. "He's at the Laboratories, naturally. He doesn't get out much anymore. I daresay his son's betrayal broke the poor man's heart."

The sky-pirate's face twisted into a venomous scowl, and he quickly thanked the old man and walked off, leaving him baffled.

His old man was still at Draklor, then? He thought irritably. He'd round up the others and find out what was behind this nethicite business once and for all.

Balthier drew in a deep breath before heading for the lift again, adopting his habitual swagger. Taking a quick glance towards the taxi station below, Balthier suddenly collided with something short and solid.

A small, light haired woman staggered backward, and Balthier quickly snatched her by the shoulders and pulled her upright. Laughing quietly, she pulled back, fixing the intricate bun on the back of her head.

"Gods, but its not my day today. Thank you for catching me," she said, looking up at him. Balthier bit the inside of his mouth and nodded his head.

"Pleasure." With that, he stalked away. The small woman grabbed his arm as he passed.

"Please wait," she said, and turned him to face her again. He looked away. "Ffamran?" she asked, reaching up to delicately touch one of his silver earrings.

"Balthier, now, actually," he said stiffly, shifting from foot to foot. Nilial grinned up at him. She looked better now than she had four years ago—she'd gained some weigh, and her cheeks had some color in them.

"The infamous sky-pirate, huh? I should have guessed." She chuckled, and Balthier kicked at a loose tile on the floor.

"Miss Nilial, I am not good at apologizing, so I'm only going to say this one time and hope it will be enough to satisfy you," he said without drawing breath.

Suddenly, a small child with two fat brown pigtails darted over to Nilial, tugging at the woman's skirts. "_Bhadra_ is bothering me!" she whined, a slightly older boy running up behind her and pulling her pigtail before running away.

"Mi'hen, stop that," Nilial scolded, and the boy looked down, abashed. Balthier winced as the boy wiped a bubble of snot off his nose with his sleeves.

Balthier forced a smile. "Charming," he said. "Whose are they?" Nilial stared at him for a long while before answering.

"They're mine," she said finally. Balthier felt his stomach lurch.

"Ah. I see. May I inquire as to the lucky man?" he asked politely, scanning the people around him.

"He's not here right now," she pointed out. A quiet smile stole across her face. "He worked in the aerodrome. I met him there after you left."

"…Ah." Balthier did not know how to respond, and he was honestly wishing he'd let Fran come with him. But, on second thought, better she didn't see this.

Nilial reached up and hugged him. "Thank you," she told him sincerely. "If not for you, I'd never have met him. I…sometimes stayed in the aerodrome, after you left." She did not further explain her statement, but Balthier felt his stomach twist with guilt at the unsaid words. _I was waiting for you to come back. _"Thank you," she said again. Sensing his discomfort, she drew back briskly. "It all turned out for the best, anyway. You're flying with that Viera now, aren't you?" A crooked grin graced her face. He nodded wordlessly as Nilial's two children called her—shooting Balthier one last smile, she turned away and herded them onto the terrace.

Balthier watched her leave, shook his head sharply to rid it of any lingering thoughts of the past, and headed back to Fran.

"Fran, let's never have children," he said tiredly, leaning his head against her shoulder. Nearby, Basch regarded him strangely. Balthier ignored him. "They're absolutely _vile_ little things."

Fran rolled her eyes, shifting her weight onto one foot and putting one hand on her hip. Her other hand slid around the back of Balthier's neck. "You're troubled." Not a question. He stood back, and rubbed the back of his head where Fran had touched him.

"Don't worry yourself about me, darling. Just a minor inconvenience." Ignoring Fran's stare, he marched off down the cobbled streets of Archades, intending to take on Draklor Laboratories—and his father—once again, but this time with a different identity.

The notorious sky-pirate, Balthier Bunansa, partner to the ravishing Fran, with a bounty of over two million gil on his head. A lofty title for a common criminal. The common criminal in question rather liked the sound of it.

--

I don't own this stuff. :D


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